


Stillness and Woe

by gerty_3000



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games), Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerty_3000/pseuds/gerty_3000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard has a nightmare about his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stillness and Woe

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon Jacket's name to be Richard Ortega, and Beard's name as Rouven Rozwell. Also that Richard is austic and very selective mute, and rarely ever speaks.

Rouven awoke to the feeling of a hand pressing hard against his chest, poking him with a sense of urgency. His eyes snapped open and he sat up in a rush, heart racing and chest heaving. There was a hiss of air somewhere above him, and a hand grasping his own tightly. It was a familiar feeling, and despite the initial rush of adrenaline, the Lieutenant realized it was just Richard. They had a strong connection, enough that Rouven could get past the other man's extreme nonvocalism, but being woken up in the middle of the night, in a warzone, to sharp poking in his chest was honestly a little terrifying, even if it was from his best friend. He gave Richard's hand a reassuring squeeze and rubbed at his eyes, using his other hand to search for his thick-framed glasses and put them on.

"What's up, buddy?" He asked, voice hoarse from sleep, and he squinted up at the taller man, pushing his blankets off and moving to stand up, maybe get some fresh air. It's not like it'd be any better than the stuffy air inside the tent, but at least outside it would be slightly less muggy. Richard made a pitched noise, though, squeezing Rouven's hand again and motioning for him to scoot over. The bearded man chuckled in understanding, moving over in the bed and making room for the fellow soldier. The man regularly had nightmares, tossing and turning and groaning in his sleep, but most nights he slept through it, and simply smoked himself to coughing fits the next morning to rid himself the mental imagery. Tonight he seemed to have been awoken by them though, and who was Rouven to not comfort his friend? 

The soldier pulled his blanket away, and patted the warm spot in the bed next to him, and Richard was quick to join him. Rouven pulled the blankets over them, still sitting up as he slung an arm around the larger man's shoulders, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over his bicep.

"What was it about this time?" He hummed, voice quiet, eyes imploring. Richard didn't like talking, or maybe he just didn't prefer it, and he seemed rather shaken now. Well, aside from the fact that he was actually shaking, but his eyes were wide, so wide that they were clearly visible in the near pitch black darkness of the tent, and his skin was slick with sweat. The other soldier grumbled something under his breath, and motioned for his throat, brushing aside his dogtags and rubbing against his adam's apple with a guilty look on his terrified face. 

"Ah..." Rouven let out a noise of acknowledgement, and... stunned surprise. The day earlier, the Ghost Wolves had assaulted a small camp, nothing too big, but there was a slight stumble in the bearded soldier's method, and his throat nearly met the bladed end of a machete and an angry Hawaiin. Richard had his back, though. They always seemed to have each other's backs, and this was no different. A well placed bullet in the man's skull, and the feeling of his esophagus being sliced open like wrapping paper on Christmas morning was spared.

Evidently the little event seemed to traumatize Richard, though, despite the soft chuckles during dinner with Barnes and Daniels about the incident. The soldier tried to laugh about it now, to lighten the mood, but thinking about it harder just made him grim. They all knew the harsh realities of facing death and destruction every day, especially given that their status of 'elite' also made it their duty to be hurled at every mission deemed impossible by the regular platoons. Rouven squeezed Richard's arm in a comforting motion, clearing his throat in what he hoped was not an awkward manner.

"Listen... That happens to us like, every day. Just because it got closer than usual... It doesn't mean I'm gone." He hummed, and Richard offered a tiny smile, though it didn't seem very sincere. He nodded his head, though, and the shakes seemed to ease a bit. It made Rouven smile, and it was nice to know that even his lame attempts at comfort helped. He leaned back, tugging the other soldier and prompting him to lean back as well, laying on the shitty bed together.

"I'm okay... I don't think I'm gonna die for a long time, and if I do, it sure as hell won't be here, alright?" He said, voice soft, breath ghosting over Richard's shoulder. He nodded, making a soft noise at the back of his throat in acknowledgement, and settled in. It was an unspoken agreement that he was allowed to spend the rest of the night in Rouven's bed, something that Barnes and Daniels, in all their douchebaggery, wouldn't snicker or poke fun at. They all had their demons, and their ways of dealing with them.

"Promise..." Richard whispered, voice rough from disuse and binge smoking, and even that soft whisper hurt his throat. Rouven felt a pang of hurt in his chest, and he sighed softly, pressing his lips against the other man's shoulder in a reassuring kiss.

"I swear it, buddy."


End file.
